Beg
by Danwea
Summary: A ficlet for Gaia's MistressVoldemort. Lord Voldemort's last moments as seen through the eyes of his Mistress. Sort of.


**Beg**

A loud crack sounded through the room. A robed man fell to his knees instantly. "My Lord, I apologise for my intrusion," he said, his voice trembling.

The Dark Lord was sat on a high backed chair, watching the flames dance in the grate. A young girl with dirty blonde hair was sitting in an ornately carved chair next to him, stroking the head on Nagini. She was watching the Death Eater with mild interest.

"It had better be good, Travers," hissed Voldemort.

"I regret, my Lord, that it is not." The atmosphere in the room was tangible. "I have just left Gringott's my Lord," he mumbled, never taking his eyes from the floor. "I was coerced, Imperiused, I believe."

"Into doing what?" asked Voldemort, tapping the arm of his chair rhythmically.

"Hiding."

Lord Voldemort chuckled softly. "Why on earth would anyone coerce you into _hiding_, Travers?"

"To-to keep me out of the way, my Lord." He stumbled over his words, physically trembling now.

Voldemort leant forwards. "To keep you out of the way of _what_, Travers? Who put the Imperius curse on you?"

"B-Bellatrix." His voice was barely audible.

Voldemort hissed. Nagini began to slide away from the young girl and began to circle the trembling Death Eater.

"What accusation is this? Bellatrix is kept here at the Manor, under my supervision. Are you suggesting that I am not keeping a watchful-enough eye on my disobedient followers?"

"My-my Lord, I know it was not Bellatrix. Polyjuice potion was being used, I'm sure."

"You're sure?" asked the girl. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "How can you be sure, Travers? A minute ago you were telling your Master that it was Bellatrix."

"She had Bellatrix's wand!" he shouted desperately.

The girl froze. "Surely not," she breathed.

"Potter." Voldemort spat the name from his mouth as if it had burned.

"No, my Lord, it couldn't be," she said soothingly, reaching out a hand to touch his arm.

He snatched himself out of her reach. "Let them out of the room," he ordered and within a swish of robes, he was gone.

***

"My Lord, please," she whispered, kneeling at his feet, clutching the hem of his robes.

He snatched them out of her hands, "Do not beg, Lemily. You know how it displeases the Dark Lord. Now, get off the floor. You are not some common urchin."

"Yes, my Lord," she muttered, hastily getting to her feet. Her breath was coming in ragged bursts, yet there were no tears in her eyes.

Lemily found she could not concentrate on her surroundings as the Dark Lord delegated duties out to his servants. There was a shout of pain and a thud as something heavy was thrown the length of the room, pulling her out of her reverie.

"Do not question me Lucius or you shall find your end at the point of my wand rather than that of the Muggle loving Order."

Lemily watched as Lucius Malfoy scrambled to regain his composure. Bellatrix, smirking, stepped forwards and bowed low. "My Master, you are quite right to summon my sister to your aid. I have told her for years to take the Mark."

Lord Voldemort turned slowly, his red eyes murderous. "I have not permitted you to speak in my presence yet, _Mrs Lestrange_, since that business at the Manor. You would do well to remember your place as my servant," he sneered.

Bellatrix's pale complexion drained of its little colour. For the Dark Lord's warrior to be recognised only by her marital status was embarrassing at best.

Lemily smirked.

"Ah, my dear, you have cheered up." She raised her mottled green eyes up to her master. "You do not have to worry. Harry Potter is all but dead." He reached out one long finger and stroked the scar across her cheek gently. "By tomorrow morning, you shall be crowned Mistress of the entire Wizarding World and your fears will be nothing but a bad memory."

"Of course my Lord," she said, averting her eyes to the ground.

He began to dismiss the Death Eaters, until at last, he was alone with Lemily. He pulled her close to his body. "Do not confuse my affection with my anger my dear, I understand your concerns." He placed a possessive kiss on top of her head.

"What do I do, if the worst happens?"

"It won't," he said, the authority in his voice leaving no leeway.

"Of course, my Lord," she mumbled into his chest.

"Do not enter the fray unless it is absolutely necessary," he comanded.

Her voice was too tight to speak. She nodded.

***

She did not know how long she had been unconscious, but, as life began to seep back through her bones, she was aware of the tremulous noise. People were crying, howling in grief, but most, most were cheering, joyous, laughing.

She rolled over onto her front, pushing herself to her hands and knees and took in her surroundings. Morning had broken; the sun was gleaming through broken windows and owls flew overhead, bringing letters, the news.

Her heart was pounding, painful, as she slipped through the scene, avoiding eye contact with the inhabitants of the Great Hall. Sitting at the Slytherin table, she spotted three familiar heads, trying to blend with the victorious.

Her fingers curled into Lucius' blonde tresses and snagged his head backwards. "Where is he?" she hissed in his ear, ignoring his yelp.

"Lemily," said Narcissa lightly, her hand gripping Lemily's wrist.

"What did you call me? No one except the Dark Lord is permitted to use my name," she shouted, throwing Narcissa off and slamming Lucius' head into the table.

Her scene had brought attention to her. A coloured man with a gold earring stepped forwards. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked in a slow, authoritative voice. His eyes swept over her deep green robes and their ornate silver edging.

Lucius flung himself forwards, "She is in league with him, she's dangerous."

She drew her wand and screamed, "Coward!"

As one, the surrounding hall raised their wands as one.

"Do not be foolish," said the black man. "You are outnumbered. Lord Voldemort is dead."

Her eyes flew wide. "You dear speak his name and tell me such lies?" she turned her wand on him.

"Lies?" came another voice. "I killed him. He is definitely dead."

"Potter?"

"Lord Voldemort is dead," said Harry.

"No," her wand clattered from her hands. "No. He said. He said." She tumbled to her knees. "No. He said."


End file.
